


Rage

by arysthaeniru



Series: the city is an abyss [9]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Drinking, Gen, some really graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysthaeniru/pseuds/arysthaeniru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it was difficult to see Kippei anymore, through his layers of guilt and responsibility and pain. But An was the best shot in Fudomine and the least likely to wallow in her sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage

With a shake of her brown hair, An stepped off her motorbike, and wound the helmet around the handlebars. The smell of the upper slums was marginally better than everywhere else, but coming from the city, it might as well have been a sewer for how assaulted her nostrils currently felt. 

“Watch this for me, will you? she asked the women, who seemed to be on their break and smoking outside the factories. They gave her a curt nod, though the tallest one, with a bandana around her hair, gave her a dirty look. An was used to those looks. 

Nobody really looked upon women wearing black and red favourably. Probably something about how the female sex wasn’t supposed to be involved in the business of protection and extortion, but An had never cared much for gender stereotypes. If Kippei threw himself into trouble, An would always follow him. _Someone_ had to be there to get his back, her brother was reckless like that. 

She unlocked the door to the small house where she and Kippei lived together, and smiled wryly at the fact that Uchimura and Ishida were already there, waiting in the kitchen. “Hey. You’d better get the first aid kit ready, it looks really nasty for Akira.” she said, stalking into the kitchen to grab a few beers. 

“That bad?” asked Ishida, his eyes widening a little, as he followed her, the white bandana around his head standing out in stark contrast to his more tanned skin. He was one of the only men that had never killed anybody inside Yukimura’s extended criminal ring, something that An found amazing for a man of his size and strength. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, but worse. He’s not dead, but he might as well be for how torn up his arm is.” An said, grimly, as she tossed Ishida and Uchimura bottles. 

Uchimura adjusted his black hat and made a noise of vague annoyance. “These things are getting worse and worse. You should start staying home, An.”

“Please, you know I’m a better shot than the rest of you.” An said, as she uncorked the lid of her beer bottle and took a large gulp. The bitter taste burned down the back of her throat and An grimaced. The beer here was always shitty. Still, it summed up their life happily. 

Uchimura and Ishida exchanged looks of concern and An glared at them. “What? You can’t keep me cooped up here in some misguided effort to protect me. I might not be as strong as you Tetsu, nor as fast as you, Kyosuke, but I’m still useful, and I could change the way the fight goes.” They were silent in response to that and An knew she’d made her point. 

She pulled out a chair from the table and collapsed in it, tipping her head back and exhaling heavily. “I went to go see Shiraishi again. He’s running out of surplus supplies to slip to us. He’s sent Yukari over to the mainland to get some, but you know how long that always takes. The price’s going to go up.” she narrated, up towards the ceiling. 

“Does Tachibana-san know?” asked Ishida, as he unwrapped their meagre first aid kit and spread them out over the worn table. 

“Nah, I came straight here.” she said, running one hand through her hair. It was starting to get a little greasy, she’d have to wash it sometime soon. She hadn’t taken a shower in a couple of days. “I thought they’d have already reached here...”

Uchimura frowned. “Trouble?” he asked, as he straightened up from the table. “Should I go and check where they are?”

The door opened at the moment, and the rest of Fudomine spilled into the house, carrying Kamio between them, carefully. Sakurai and Mori pulled Kamio onto the table, and An moved the bottles, so they could properly see his crushed arm. His legs had been bandaged and dealt with, but evidently none of the medics had known what to do with the bloody, crushed pulp that was Kamio’s arm. Ishida looked shaken by the mess. It was broken in at least five places, he had entire chunks of deep skin layers missing and the blood that sluggishly oozed out of him was less red and more blue. 

“That might need an amputation...” Uchimura murmured, softly, pulling his hat off, his face really looking troubled. 

Sakurai wiped off his brow. “There’s got to be something else.” he pleaded, his serious face very concerned. 

Ibu was uncharacteristically silent in the corner, as he just stared at Kamio, listlessly. There was a solemn silence that filled the room as Ishida finally snapped out of his trance and added some rubbing alcohol to the arm, in an attempt to sterilize the wounds. Kamio didn’t even flinch, and looking half-dead, An wasn’t even sure that he could feel it anymore.

“There’s no more supplies?” asked Kippei, the line of his mouth grim. An shook her head, unable to quite tear her eyes from Kamio’s form. 

“Nothing. And what little we can get is going to be more expensive.” she said, biting her lips. “That’s what Shiraishi said.”

Kippei exhaled, looking very tired, all of a sudden, as he leant back against the wall. “Is that so...” he murmured, his voice grave. The bloody cloth tied around his arm never looked more guilty than in that moment. 

Finally, Ibu spoke up, as Ishida was just about the unroll the bandages. “The tensions are only going to worsen. We have to save our supplies for what we can afford. You have to cut off Akira’s arm.” he said, his voice even and monotone as ever. “He won’t like it, but we have to save our supplies for things we can actually help. Akira’s not recovering from this, no matter what we do. It’s too late for his arm to be functional again. At least this way he can get a prosthetic from somewhere and we can lessen our use of bandages.”

Mori cursed under his breath and Uchimura tipped back his head, looking frustrated. “We can’t just give up on him.” retorted Sakurai, looking quite serious. 

“Losing the battle may mean winning the war.” replied Ibu, his deadpan expression not changing. 

An looked down at Kamio, whose vibrant red hair seemed to match the colour of his arm, though she knew that it couldn’t be the same shade. His facer was pale and clammy from the bloodloss and he looked closer to death than life in that moment. “Shinji’s right.” she said, softly, as everyone’s despairing gazes went to her face. “We have to cut it off.”

Ishida let out an almost sob and An smiled at him, gently and reassuringly. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No, I’ve got it.” said Tachibana, firmly, as he stepped in from where he had been gathering his thoughts. “Tetsu, Tatsunori, hold him down. An, get some cork, put it in his mouth, this will hurt him. We don’t have anesthesia, do we, Kyosuke?”

Uchimura shook his head, and An quickly ran to the kitchen, to get the block of cork. Everybody was in place by the time she had returned, and Kippei was holding a sharp, sleek knife to the mangled, broken arm. “It’s going to be over really quickly, Akira. Just bear with it.” murmured Tachibana, his voice rumbly and reassuring, in the same tone he’d used when An had been young and had still had nightmares. 

Kamio stirred slightly as An forced his mouth open and placed the cork in. “Bite down, Akira.” she said, staying right in front of his vision. “Focus on my face and my voice.”

“A-a-n-chan?” he asked, weakly, through the cork and she smiled, again. 

“That’s right.” she said, softly. “Bite down now, for me. Did you know that the city opened up another pastry shop? Marui-kun was complaining about it the other day, because he said that the pastries were almost too good. Something about the cream being so wonderfully fresh that it practically melted in his mouth.” Kippei had already started sawing, as he murmured a prayer under his breath and Kamio looked like he was about to cry. 

“There’s one with strawberries and mango together, do you remember when we were younger, you, me and Shinji used to save up for mango ice-cream? Like that. And with strawberries, and according to Jackal, they aren’t supposed to taste good together, but the pastry tastes like coming home.” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady and warm, as a distractor, as she placed her hands on his cheeks, to make sure that his gaze didn’t drift back towards his arm. Ishida and Mori tightened their grip on his shoulders and held him still, even as he tried to tremble. 

“And the bread is supposed to be so flaky and light that just touching it makes it shed crumbs everywhere, but it’s so fresh and light that it always tastes like it’s just been made.” she said, making up details now, as she gave up trying to remember her fleeting conversation with the Rikkai men. “And it’s always warm, even after a long time, because that’s just how pastries are supposed to be made.” she murmured, as Kippei finally cut off the last bit of flayed skin and bone, leaving Kamio with just a stump. 

She herself tore her eyes away from the wound and the emergency treatment Kippei and Ibu were doing, as she swallowed down hard. The last thing she was now was hungry. “I’m going to be heading up to the city sometime soon, I’ll definitely get you one of those. One little piece of hope, huh?” she asked, with a soft smile. “We’ll definitely get you something wonderful.”

There were tears streaming down Kamio’s face and An felt like crying herself, but she smiled and pressed a kiss to Kamio’s cheek. “You’re so very brave, thank you for being so brave.” she said, pulling away, quietly. “Just breathe out, Akira. You’re going to be okay, I’m going to make sure that the people who did this to you will pay.”

“We’re all going to make sure they pay.” said Uchimura, with a grim look.

Kippei tied the last bandage tightly and made a gesture with his head. Mori, Uchimura and Sakurai all took Kamio up between them and carried him upstairs, slowly. Ishida, looking quite horiffied by his own actions, cleaned up the table, wiping it clean of the flesh and blood, while Kippei stared down at his blood-stained hands. 

“Yukimura’s a colder man than me if he needs a cloth to be able to remember who bleeds.” he murmured, underneath his breath. 

An squeezed her eyes together and walked over to Ibu, who looked suddenly weary, as he slumped down next to the wall. She crouched down next to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You need to breathe as well, Shinji. We need our strategist.” she murmured. 

“He’ll blame me when he wakes up, his eyes will look over me like I hate him, like I wanted him to be like this. He might cry, he always looks like shit when he cries, but then he looks even worse now, I’ve never seen him look this bad, I honestly thought he was dead, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I’m afraid.” Ibu babbled, his eyes finally looking like the man whose best friend’s arm had just been sliced off on his behest. 

“Yeah. He probably will.” An said, bluntly, cutting through his babble. “And yeah, it’s understandable that you’re afraid. But you need to pull your shit together, because Akira’s shit is _not_ together, and he needs there to be someone’s whose is.”

Ibu stared up at her and An met his gaze, glaring him down, until he managed to finally pull himself upwards, his face back to the usual set of boredom. Ishida had finished cleaning the table and he handed An the half-finished bottle of beer again. 

An glanced at the beer and grimace. “Think we need something stronger.” she muttered, as she started for the kitchen. 

“We’re talking business, An, not yet.” Kippei said, as he walked past her to wash the blood off his hands in their sink. “I want everyone as clear-minded as possible.”

“Yes, nii-san.” she said, clippedly, as she watched the set of his back, and the tension therein. She’d speak to him later about his need to take the responsibility for everything, even when those actions cut him to the core, but not in front of the rest of their group. That was to be saved for night-time, when she and Kippei curled up together over a candle, to reminisce. 

By the time he returned, everybody except Sakurai who had stayed back to hold the pressure to Kamio’s wounds, was gathered around the small wooden table, which was now tinged red with the blood that had seeped through the cloth. “What are we going to do in retaliation, Tachibana-san?” asked Uchimura, fiercely, as if ready to go out and punch some policemen. 

“Nothing.” said Kippei, his voice stern and commanding. “We’re not going to do anything.”

The boys all exploded into noise and An’s own face set into a deep frown. Kamio’s arm and his tears streaming down her face were still etched in her mind--and in his. What was her brother thinking?

Kippei raised his hands, and they fell into silence anyway, though Uchimura and Mori looked mutinous about it. “What good will it do you or Akira? What will you do in retaliation, go into the city and kill the policeman who did this to Akira? Except no one knows which one it was, since they wore riot masks, so will you kill the entire police division? They have families too, and subordinates that are not currently in the upper city. They will come home and they will come back here to fight us. And they will slaughter us, or perhaps just injure us, and then our friends will rise up retaliation, until there is outright war!” His voice ended loudly and sternly. His eyes burned with fury and righteous passion, as he met the gaze of every one of his friends, until they could understand him.

“Hatred begets hatred. We will not attack the upper city.” said Kippei, collapsing into one of the free chairs. “It will not bring back his arm, nor will it bring you happiness.”

“But they injured Akira!” protested Ishida. “They harmed him beyond compare.”

“How many women and children have died since they started attacking the slums? Twelve?” asked Kippei, looking Ishida in the eye. “They had families too, and they are gone forever, unlike Akira _who is still with us_. We did not retaliate then, we will not retaliate now. You are letting your filial emotions get the better of you. Every human life is worth the same price, and since we didn’t go to war before, I will not go to war now.”

“So we’re going to just let them get away with this?” asked Mori, looking confused.

Kippei’s eyes glinted. “I never said that. I merely said that we wouldn’t retaliate against the City or attack unprovoked. If they come here again, we’re going to make sure they’ll regret it.”

“We have to kill them before they can get inside and harm people.” said Ishida, looking pensive but An shook her head, before anyone else could agree.

“Blind them, burn them, break them, but don’t kill them. Death is an escape. Let them live with the fact that they’re attacking the place where the majority of our children live, that they’re destroying lives by attacking us.” she said, the words brittle in her mouth. She was sure that the smile that was snaking across her face was not a pretty one. But they were all seething with rage, even her brother, for all of his talks of mercy. 

Ibu met her gaze. “That’s easy enough to do. We can make all sorts of non-lethal weapons from the waste materials from the factories.” he murmured. “But we need to give it to the people who work closest to the city entrance, so we can prevent from doing too much damage, even when we aren’t all around.” He broke off into more quiet mumbling, which most people were now used to and tuned out. 

“Kyosuke, Tetsu, go do some research on it. Take Shinji with you. I’m going to leave Masaya in charge of Akira.” Kippei said, nodding, slowly, though his gaze towards An was a little uneasy. “An, Tatsunori and myself will continue the regular patrols.” Kippei straightened up and ran his hands through his cropped blond hair. 

“So we’re not fighting, at all?” asked Uchimura, still looking a little uneasy.

“If you want to do that, you can go and join Yukimura’s forces. I won’t stop you.” said Kippei, looking tired. “But I refuse to become as cold as him and his forces. We have protected the people here. We don’t sell them drugs, or alcohol or encourage them towards prostitution or gambling. We just protect, and I will keep myself that way.”

An sighed as she watched the emotions play over Uchimura’s face. “Yessir.” he said, finally, as he seemed to settle on resigned anger. He, Ishida and Ibu left the house leaving herself, Mori and Kippei at the table. 

“Well, this sucks.” said Mori, with a dry laugh. “Mind if I grab that vodka now, Tachibana-san?”

Kippei just nodded and An made a gesture towards herself, too. Mori disappeared and reappeared with three bottles. He threw one towards An, and made his way towards the stairs. “I’m going to give this over to Masaya, then I’ll be off.” he said, as he clattered up the stairs, leaving the two siblings together on the table. 

Kippei buried his head in his face. “Sometimes, I still dream of the mainland.” he murmured. “Miyu-chan and Senri and happiness. It wans’t perfect, but it wasn’t here either. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m doing more to help people here than I ever have before, but...”

“It’s tough, right?” An replied, as she wound one hand around Kippei’s back. “But we’re going to win, that I promise you. Whatever it takes.”

“No.” Kippei said, and his voice was firmer than An had ever heard him be. Sometimes it was difficult to see her Kippei through all the layers of pain and responsibility. “Not whatever it takes. We will do what is moral. And if our morals cannot win us the fight, we will lose. I will not compromise my identity for victory. That would be becoming as bad as everyone else.”

An rolled her eyes. “Sorry Kippei, but I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep everyone alive. If that means being as bad as them, I’ll do it. In the end, I am human and selfish. We are all human and selfish.”

Kippei shook his head. “Will even you fight me, An?”

An took a swig of the vodka, feeling the acrid taste burn her entire body with a strong resolution. “If it’s a choice between your lives and our morals, I’m choosing your lives Kippei-nii. I won’t regret it either. But as long as there is a way to win while keeping to our morals, I’ll follow whatever you say.”

Her brother stared at her for a few moment, before laughing darkly. “I see...” he murmured.

“Not everyone is a saint like you, Kippei-nii.” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Sorry.” With that, she pulled away, and grabbed her red coat from the door, tucking the bottle of vodka into her pocket. She had some patrolling to get done and she'd have to be on high alert. She was the best shot in all of Fudomine, wasn't she? If they didn't sort out those non-lethal weapons soon, to make an example of those who hurt them, well, she'd just have to do it herself, with her gun and her unwavering aim. Kippei wasn't the only Tachibana with a steel resolve.

**Author's Note:**

> God, this series gets darker with every part I write. But I love both Tachibanas a lot.


End file.
